The Awakened: Within This House
by Felicia Angel
Summary: ..."thou must not abide", second of my Holmes/Lovecraft crossover. Holmes and Lestrade seek the truth, and may find Watson sooner then they think, but in what condition? WARNING: violence, gore
1. Chapter 1

Title: Within This House, Thou Must Not Abide

Author: Felicia Angel

Rating: M/R

Characters: Lestrade, Holmes, Watson

Summary: Part Two of my retelling of "The Awakened", this part dealing with the first two parts of the game and the changes therein. Lestrade's search for Watson is cut short by the disappearance of Captain Stenwick's Maori servant, as well as a sighting of Sherlock Holmes in the area. Could this be a link to Moran and where he sent Watson?

Author's Notes: The title is taken from _Grimm's Grimmest _story "The Robber Bridegroom". The full 'song' is _Turn back, turn back, thou pretty bride/Within this house, thou must not abide/For here do evil things betide._

I had not liked the plan, but Watson insisted on it and who was I to deny him the capture of the last of Moriarty's group? I had been busy with other cases, as had Gregson and even Hopkins, which made Holmes take up another Inspector as his confidant and have him press the issue. Of course, he thought he got all of them. The man was a git, and after we found out about Holmes' death, I came close to a reprimand for assault on a fellow police officer. Instead, Hopkins beat me to it, and Gregson beat me the next time, after Mary Watson's death and what was apparently a callus remark about us 'pampering the last link to our crib sheet detective'.

So I and others enjoyed the Doctor's company. So a few of us enjoyed reading his works and seeing what we could figure out before the real person was revealed. I knew I wasn't painted favorably but it was hard to do compared to Mr. Sherlock Holmes…though Gregson did laugh about the 'ferret-faced' comment, and Watson did apologize but I did have that look…on top of that, it had taken years for us to gain anything like friendship with the man, though with the Doctor it was always a good deal easier and helped us later on when having to deflect or deal with our 'slow' natures.

The Adair case had almost been normal except no gun, no reason for suicide, and the only way a person could do it was with a rifle, but what rifle fired revolver bullets? I should be so happy that Watson, despite the annoying man at the coroner's court, was still up to giving his opinions. They had never steered us or Holmes wrong, and I did take into my mind what he knew about guns. The man was a police surgeon, and an army surgeon, he should know guns! Still, he had been as clueless as I, and despite a minor warning about what could turn dangerous, he still felt like looking into it.

So when he came to me, breathless and obviously in a run for his life, I listened, and decided on his plan. He would go in, put up the fake bust of Holmes that (for some reason) Holmes had ordered much earlier, and the bait would be set. We would have the man, and to hell with the consequences!

We waited in the dark, Watson smiling and I curious as to the smile.

"It's as if I'm with him again," he told me, "as if he's here, watching and happy that I'm finishing it."

When we caught Moran, the old shikari gave Watson a nice bruise and nearly choked him to death. He wasn't treated nicely on the way back to the station. Nor was he treated nicely when we asked about Adair, though Watson had guessed that one right as well.

And then, when I went to congratulate him, I found his practice for sale, and him having gone through what had to be a fake court that deemed him insane and shuffled him off somewhere.

Moran was not treated well at all when I found this out, but he instead laughed and said some nonsense, saying he didn't know where 'they' took him, only that he'd given the Doctor's name for some experiment…

Mycroft Holmes was formidable but he was on my side, and for the past five months, with what resources I had, I tracked down the people who'd moved the Doctor, the court that sent him away, the man who put him on the boat…

But my jurisdiction stopped at the mouth of the Thames. He was somewhere in Europe, if alive, and I couldn't begin to think of where he was sent. Mycroft Holmes had to find that, while I was sent around on errands, all the while realizing that if Holmes had been here, he wouldn't have stopped. He would've found him by now, and not needed his brother's help, or if he had I would've never heard of it.

The cases of disappearing immigrants was one of rather long and somewhat heated (at times) debate, but I took the case because I wanted a change of pace and honestly hoped to find someone. Upon realizing the ages, I also realized most were just children, and wanted nothing more then to find and return them home, as well as tell them to not worry their family so. Few if any even came to us as it was, and that they were now spoke of their desperation.

So I was lead to the young Maori, and now, here was Holmes, and for a second I could only stare at him before I said what, in hindsight, was probably not the first thing he expected.

"You bastard, where the hell have you been? Do you have any clue what's been going on while you've been convincing us you were dead?"

"Hello to you too," Holmes muttered from next to me, "and I've gotten delayed in France, taking down some of the last of Moriarty's international ring. I heard about what happened in Camden House, and afterwards…I am sorry for not arriving earlier."

I turned to look at him, taking in his too-pale face and thin appearance, as well as the apparent loss of light in his eyes.

_I'm sorry I didn't protect him, or get to him in time._ "I've found most of those responsible, but they sent him to the continent. I don't know where."

"Sadly, that was only half the puzzle. Mycroft informed me of the other half, which you appear to be on as well."

"The missing foreigners?"

He nodded. "A few others appear to have been recruited into an anarchistic cult, though it appears to want more then to overthrow one government, but indeed all. I don't know what they need the people for just yet, or how Moran is connected…I was hoping for some insight."

I considered telling him no, but I knew it was always easier to work with him and instead sighed, telling him what I knew. Moran had joined some group before he joined Moriarty, and had used it to get rid of Watson. Of course, my own testimony had sent him to jail anyway, and the knowledge that it was kidnapping had only extended the sentence. I told him what I tracked, but they had already sent Watson away at least two weeks before I got to that end, for which I blamed more work then necessary and having to call in Gregson and Hopkins, as well as various others, to help me in their spare time as it had been deemed a cold case almost from the beginning.

Holmes snorted. "I hope you can see now why I work outside the police force when I can. I know the rules, and they can be too restricting at times."

"Holmes, if you'd been on the police force, there are plenty of rules that you'd have broken and you wouldn't be higher then a bobby."

Holmes smirked briefly at that, which I was grateful to see. At least the man had a sense of humor still, though the disappearance of Watson had obviously been worrying him near to a real death.

"We must find him, Lestrade."

"We will, Holmes. If I don't, then you will."

* * *

The docks were cold, and despite sending off a letter on what I was searching for, I came up to find Holmes having already asked about the possible suspect who worked there, and on his way to someone's house where he might get information. I was forced to follow, for I knew well enough this wasn't my case at all, and I was only helping as far as backup and official force.

We found no one at the house, but learned from the Nepalese neighbors that they had also lost a young man, and found ourselves in possession of a fake silver pelican that might or might not be lure for young people. I attempted to recall the evidence and if I'd seen such a thing when we heard a retching sound, and walked over to find a young deliveryman who was sick to the side and violently so.

I approached close enough to smell the alcohol coming off him and said to Holmes, "This man reeks of alcohol…whatever his illness, it's obviously self-induced."

The young man hiccupped and blinked at me beadily before saying as he swayed, "Not my fault, honest. A gang o' tuffs forced it on me……oohh, me head."

We both frowned, Holmes asking in a quiet voice about the gang and learning it was near here and taking up a small bottle from the man after he explained they had forced the drink on him, taken his parcel, and left him this way.

Holmes tried some and frowned. "Lestrade, will you have to arrest a moonshiner if you meet them?"

I glared at him and he gave me a smile. "I'll be back in a few minutes, then, if you can get some help for this poor man."

I did so, not wanting to ask him more then I needed to know. It was a local joke among some of the bobbies that the less you looked at how Holmes got his information, the happier and less paperwork you'll need. While I might have wanted to question about it now, I knew that there was no point in it and that it would lose me the trail and the case.

I sighed as I waited outside the Cursed Mermaid for him to return, a small brown package in hand, before going in and learning that it was for the drunk man with the hook hand. The hook was discarded and we learned that "Dirty" Summers, a man fitting the description of the one who took the Nepalese boy, was near the back earlier, getting sailors for something or other. Holmes went to look, and returned with a small drawing of four strange symbols.

"Thank you," he told the bartender, giving him a coin and the two of us leaving as he said, "I should've headed off earlier, or asked you to. Tell me what you know of Warehouse 12, Lestrade."

"Other then no bobby in this area will go near the place if they can help it?"

Holmes gave me a look and I sighed. "A few years ago, there was a raid on it, and it resulted in a good number of deaths. Since then, one or two of the more superstitious lot has said that there were ghosts roaming around. They also said that another group took up where the last one left off."

"What were these two?" he asked as we passed a ship in drydock and went around a few of the lower-numbered warehouses.

"The first were cannibals, the next…well, no one's sure if it _is _a cult. There's never been enough evidence."

We reached it, and he looked up at the hole before saying, "I have a feeling you'll get your evidence."

"I was afraid of that. I'm off to not watch you break and enter."

"Could you do it where you might _help _me a little?"


	2. Chapter 2

-Holmes-

We got into the warehouse with ease, though what we found right away was not something that gave either of us confidence that we'd find anything but bodies if we did find the remainder of the people. A passport of one Amos Colby of Boston, Massachusetts told me this might be much larger then just Europe, and the daemonic image within didn't inspire confidence either. Lestrade opened up the crates, frowning as he noticed the amount of sails that were outside of the boxes and said, "Holmes…are these better termed…coffins?"

"I doubt it," I said, looking at the footsteps, "They might just be for transporting the bodies."

"Either way," he said, glancing uneasily at the blood covering some of the crates and then moving over to the main doors that lead to an underground storage area, pulling and frowning. I came over to help, but the huge door wouldn't budge.

I looked around once before coming up with a solution, directing Lestrade and both of us standing well enough away from both doors and the rigged up lever of a large pot full of water that fell to open them.

Getting the storm lantern he found in one of the crates, Lestrade and I started to descend.

I shivered as we headed in. The whole of the walls seemed to be watching us, pulsing around us like a living animal, and I attempted to not deduce the fact that the stairs and walls around us were dug in such a way that they were created from _beneath_…

Our progress was impeded by a stone door that seemed to require a password, and as Lestrade, with the drawing I had made from the table, noticed that some of the markings on the walls were like the ones on the paper.

I glanced at him, getting the light so we could proceed, and pushed the four stones that were required to gain entrance.

The area was long, and I could barely make out what appeared to be a raised area in the front, but before that we explored the two sides that were lined with cots, finding the fake pelicans, an area with drugged water and a tin with a black edelweiss symbol of some sort on it's front but the label too badly obscured for me to deduce where it came from, and what appeared to be a few clues left behind for the next people, a soot-made symbol of an addition symbol within a square, and the clothing of Amos Colby.

Lestrade turned the light to the front, and nearly dropped it at the sight before us.

I had some knowledge of corpses, and my time living with Watson and with him as my partner in our little agency had greatly raised it a good deal, of which I was grateful, up until now.

The body lay with it's head facing us, and I could see areas where some odd surgery had been done upon him, as well as see that his leg had been torn off at the knee by some violent man. Other injuries that I hoped the poor man had lost consciousness for included wounds that cut muscle and even some of the bone beneath, and it was obvious at some areas that he had been bound. His eyes were now clouded over and it was hard to tell their original color other then perhaps a light color of green, blue or even gray.

I turned to a broken statue on the ground, a mirror of the larger one that seemed to crouch over Colby's body like a disgusting perversion, it's head that of an octopus or something similar, the body like that of a great cat or similar animal, and two horrid wings behind it. Near another area was some sort of poem or etching, which I made a copy of using some coal and the Northwood Detective Agency paper I had found among the clothing of Colby a little earlier. I headed down to where Lestrade stood rooted and explained to him, "This man was also searching for something. We are treading dangerous ground here, Lestrade…" Watson had disappeared five months ago, in early May. What could have happened to him in that time? My panic over the whole thing nearly caused me to miss Lestrade's already terrified face turn even paler.

I turned, and I wish to God that I had not.

When I was younger, I had become fascinated with snakes, but also gained a deathly fear of them due to learning all I could. Because of this, I knew the danger we faced when we went up against Roylott, but I also was fearful, not only for my life but for Watson's. That I had caused Roylott's death did not concern me so much: he played with fire and was thusly burned by it, even if it was I who turned up the fire.

But I had never heard of snakes that would be in a man's body. I had heard of the ones that ate up a body, but…

I had to take the lamp from Lestrade before he dropped it, and we both all but raced out as one came out of Colby's mouth, forcing his head to move away and roll down towards us on the stairs.

Outside, Lestrade was violently sick, while I had to take a good amount of the foul air in order to calm myself, attempting to not think that these same people had Watson, that it could've been Watson on a similar slab, he could be—

No! I had a case, and I would _not _think such things! It was my own fault that I hadn't been here to keep Watson from that fate, and I would not think of what his fate was until I found him.

Then, I would have all the time in the world to apologize and hope he was still my friend.

* * *

I was annoyed, all but throwing things around my room as I glared at the compound and tried to think out this puzzle. If only Watson was here! He could tell me how someone gets so much of a drug into the country, as well as what druggist would risk their career for it.

"_There are special regulations, Holmes. You didn't know that?"_

I stopped and looked around, almost even going into the other room to make sure I wasn't dreaming or hearing things. Watson's voice, steady and simple, had given me the solution.

The Docks…everything lead back there, and I hurried back without contacting Lestrade, who had enough problems dealing with the cleanup of the body and area. I almost felt sorry for him, but…

OH, where were my brains! I saw the tar near the warehouse where the boxes were stored and then the shoeprints that matched the ones at Captain Stenwick's house, and nearly hit myself for stupidity.

"_Really, Holmes, you're overworking yourself. Don't be so hard on yourself._"

I frowned as I followed the steps, picking up a lost key and finding myself with a clear label.

Black Edelweiss Institute…a cross in an addition symbol…

"Switzerland." I muttered, and used as much of my coin as I could to get to the Diogenes Club as quickly as possible. I needed information, and I needed Mycroft's help.

* * *

"Yes, I understand the position Sherlock, but what else can I do? I am already hard-pressed to get Lestrade permission to continue his investigation to the Black Edelweiss Institute, and I'm more then a little worried about what he might find there. Accusations as they are, but none founded or proved, have been brought up against Doctor Gygax, the current head, and he has no connection that we can see to Moran."

"Yes he or someone else supplied men who seemed to follow Moran's group with enough drugs to keep a small population under and to take them to some unknown place," I argued back, "and I doubt you've had a chance to check the place for Watson either."

Mycroft gave me a look that told me what he thought, but sighed instead. "No, I have not. But can you be so sure he'll be the same once you find him?"

I looked off and glared at the wallpaper instead of answering. How could I be sure I'd find him? How could I even know if he'd still be Watson, and not believe himself insane? I had prepared myself for that possibility, when I had first thought I could get back to England then been stopped by an experiment and a remainder of Moriarty's old group wanting revenge.

"Here is the signed request. Get Lestrade, and get to the ship, Sherlock. I hope you do find the Doctor."

I grabbed the papers, giving him a small smile. "Thank you, Mycroft. I shall not forget this."

"I don't doubt it," I barely heard him mutter as I raced out the door and went to pick up Lestrade from Scotland Yard.


	3. Chapter 3

_Switzerland, September 1894_

-Lestrade-

I was not happy with this plan…

…Oh good Lord I can't believe it!

Those were the thoughts that had come to me when I'd heard Watson's own plan, but despite the fact that I disliked the idea of Watson helping to capture a dangerous criminal (for some reason I couldn't forget that both he and I had been less then helpful in holding Hope down during the first case he'd joined Holmes in, and my mind didn't register until later that it'd been near thirteen years, he was healthier now and a better weight then he'd been then), but I'd helped him and was glad that he kept a cool head and was helpful in distracting Moran and fighting him off long enough for me to blow the whistle and then have to get him off the poor man.

After Watson's disappearance, at least one of the more superstitious bobbies had offered a small item to ward off evil. When I asked about it, he muttered that he'd seen Holmes when someone looked at the Doctor in a bad way, and if Holmes was a ghost and found out then I'd need all the protection I could get.

I had told him it was rubbish, but kept the item anyway. I may be mildly practical but I still cross myself at church and to ward off evil. Policemen and those in the Service seem to have a small amount of knowledge how important religion and faith can be, and especially how important they are when going into the unknown.

But I still hated this plan.

Holmes felt that it was necessary I knew, as he understood scaring me half to death would not be helpful and if I pushed myself into using my police authority on the matter, there might be danger. I knew that if Watson was here, he'd be kept in the dark and something about that made me even angrier about the whole plan. Why should I get this information when the good Doctor wouldn't? I voiced this opinion and Holmes paused, frowning and looking sad before saying, "If Watson knew it was I, and he found out I was about to enter something that could easily harm me in such a matter, he would not stop until he was inside as well, and then we'd have no way to escape. A report said one of the men was able to only get as far as the front steps in a bid for freedom before he was caught, and I have the idea that the only other way out is in a police wagon, which you can provide."

I still didn't like it.

"Lestrade," he said, leaning back, "I don't like this anymore then you do, but I have no choice in the matter. I can do the accent, I can look like the deceased, and you can act well enough that you can fool him into believing you might be a doctor." He paused to write something on a paper, "Here, this is the name of a local constable who helped be three years ago. Mention my name and your own, he should help you in getting us out."

"And if I can't?"

He was silent on this matter, and I knew that if he couldn't get out with the information, or with Watson, then we'd have lost the best team there ever was.

I let out a breath and instead glared at the broken statue near me. "That dreadful thing gives me the creeps. I hope you get rid of it soon."

"I'll do what I can."

* * *

-Holmes-

In hindsight, I didn't really expect what happened after Lestrade was pushed out the door due to pointing me out as an imposter. I did expect some sort of fight, or even that I would be taken to a cell.

I did not expect the girl who was visiting her family to react so violently and begin to have a seizure of some sort as I was pushed into what should've rightfully been a torture chamber, not something in an insane asylum. One of the brutes of attendants wielded a club and kept me facing a table with a needle and some sort of sedative, as well as enough water that I could easily replace that into the needle instead of whatever vile drug was there.

I may have my vices, but at least _I _administer them to myself and in, thus far, safe doses. Three years on the run had let that run dry, but it didn't mean I was in a hurry to be injected with anything again.

I also secreted the small bottle into my coat pocket, not wanting more to be administered and also realizing that it might come in handy while I was here as Gygax walked in, taking the needle as he passed me with a look of superiority and power, making to give the startled girl an injection as he said simply, "A few drops of this would down an elephant," before the needle went into my neck and the water ran into my veins. I hissed in sudden pain and fell forward, mimicking that I was about to go under as I heard Gygax order the brute who had been watching me, Kuntz I believe, to take me down below and put me in a holding cell.

_Finally_, I thought as I was unceremoniously thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and taken downstairs, then dropped as if I was the same, knocking me head against the stone floor and having my vision darken momentarily. When it cleared, I was alone with one cellmate (who reeked of alcohol and drugs) and luckily enough items to not only make my escape from the cell, but also make it appear that I was still there, should the nurse pass by again.

With the small spoon, I was able to pick the relatively simple lock on the door, closing it behind me before going through some of the area and finding the way back upstairs, as well as the lab where Kuntz stood, his back to the area with all the air of someone who didn't want to notice anything.

I managed to lift some syringes that, truthfully, the only thing I needed now was something to make into a blowpipe before starting to continue on my way.

I whirled when a man grabbed my arm. "Who are you, huh huh? You're not a nurse! Help me out of here!"

I blinked in surprise at the man, noticing his look and twitchy nature, before saying, "I'm sorry, my friend, but I cannot unlock your door without a key."

"I'm not your friend!" the man all but shouted, "I'm Maurizio, and the locks are not here well. Just get me a crowbar from the shed down there, and I'll not scream loud enough to bring down every orderly upon you!"

He made his case well, and I headed down, getting not only the crowbar but also a small tube for my own use.

I first went to take care of the orderly, entering to gain the evidence I needed and, for curiosity's sake, taking some pink and blue crystals I noticed inside. I then went outside and handed Maurizio the crowbar, and he made quick work of the lock, as he said he would, before saying, "You'd best get out of here yourself. If they find you, they'll send you downstairs," he giggled suddenly, "They'll send you into Hell!"

Without much more to say, Maurizio left, and a few minutes later I heard his shouts and the shouts of the men upstairs, signaling that he was making enough trouble that I could go up and see what else I could find that would further help my investigations.

* * *

Now donning a nurse's white jacket and possibly able to be mistaken for one from a good enough distance (or if the person was distressed enough), I examined the small garden area nearby and found that it held a large cage full of birds that all could speak, and one very distressed girl who was sad because Baur, another inmate nearby, was stealing the bird feed and causing them to be hungry, as well as taunting them. He muttered about having them fly away so the men in white would run around for his amusement, and I realized as I saw a few walking around that I would not be able to look around here, so returned downstairs and tried the small grouping of keys to see what I could find.

One side, near my former cell, showed off a silent man and a girl who threatened me when I came close then went to crying for 'Heidi', what appeared to be her missing doll, and a door to Laundry that wouldn't open with any of the instruments I had before me.

The other side held a wandering orderly and a way down further, but I knew I couldn't make it further until I got rid of him.

I looked first down one hall that held no people, then another after the orderly went by, seeing the nearest room marked for a man named Becker, and moved close enough to speak to him.

"You-you're not a nurse," he muttered, his arms around his shoulders and his eyes sunken in, his face pale and his whole body shaking. I frowned at his features as he said, "Please, can you get my medicine?"

"What is it?" I whispered back, keeping an eye out for the real nurses and orderlies.

"Pink crystals," he muttered, "dissolved in water."

I had the crystals, and had to make a trip back to the garden before a thought hit me as far as how to get rid of most of the nurses.

I returned downstairs and asked about opening the aviary door, and was sent on another quest, where I had to speak to the young Gerda, who had yelled at me earlier. She spoke of an 'evil man' and what he had done to her, which almost made me sick to think of it, and that she had cut off his head and taken the key to his room, where the aviary key was, and hid it in Heidi's stomach. I thanked her and Heidi for it as she sung to the small doll.

"He's very nice, isn't he?" I heard her mutter as I started to leave, "yes, just like John, he was so nice and then he's been so sick. He even snuck over to visit us, and tell us such nice tales of his friend Holmes."

I turned back, forcing myself to walk slowly and speak plainly. "Gerda, Heidi…is he still here? John, I mean."

"He is, but we don't know where. He said he was near Becker and the road to Hell, but last we heard he was sick and not moving, and the evil men were going to do something to him, to see if he'd move like some of the ones with scars on their heads."

I kept my calm, though I don't know how, long enough to get the birds free and start to return to Becker's room to speak.

Watson was here. Watson had been sick, not moving, and the men here had thought of doing some horrid experiment on him.

I all but ran back to Becker's room, stopping before him as I heard my name being called from the next cell over.


	4. Chapter 4

-Watson-

I frowned, wondering if I was indeed mad now. I had been happy to see Holmes and hear him state that his real self was coming, but in the cold light of possibly day, I couldn't be certain, and to tell the truth I was starting to suffer withdrawal symptoms again, which worried me greatly as I had thought Gygax hadn't been giving me them.

But that I heard Holmes' voice, speaking quietly to Becker, and looked out as much as I could to see the back of a dark head in a white coat leaving.

He was tall enough, and I had followed after Holmes enough to know the walk, the stance, the figure…

I woke to the scream of whistles and running, realizing from the gray image that I'd seen before me earlier that I must have fainted, my hand still on the window bars that I now used to raise myself up.

I waited as Holmes returned, speaking to Becker about what was going on, I tried twice to call to him until I managed a bare, scratchy word.

He turned quickly, walking up and blinking at the sight of me, his grey eyes wide with amazement and horror. "Watson!" His hand was warm around mine, "I owe you a thousand apologies, to find you in such a place when I could have prevented it!"

I gave him a small smile, "I would gladly take my suffering if it meant I saw you again. What's going on, that you're here?"

He explained quickly, causing me even more confusion. Why different people of various nations? I confirmed his theory, adding that Becker and I had heard, a few days ago, the group singing something in the same language when none had spoken to another in the same language before, then said, "You must get me out, Holmes. It will take two people to open the gate."

He gave me a small smile, patting my hand as he did. "I will see what I can do, but these locks will take too long for picking. I was able to get one person lose with a good poker, and if I find one…"

"Holmes, please. If you must go down on your own, be ready. It is…" I shuddered involuntarily, and his hand tightened around mine.

"I will come back and get you, Watson. I promise."

With another small smile, he headed away and I sat back on the small bed. Holmes was here. Holmes was alive.

I was not mad.

I held back a yell as a spasm ran through me, holding my shoulder and grimacing, hoping for it to pass by the time Holmes returned, and to not come up again. In a way I almost wished for the crystals again, but forced my mind away from it as I took even breaths to calm myself. Holmes was here and would get me out. It would not be like last time, when I was brought back and beaten and thrown into my cell with the threat of higher doses, of another visit to the old man in that realm of hell…

Holmes was here. I would be fine. We would escape, and hopefully save the poor souls that had passed through this place and under Gygax's knife.

I heard him return a few more times, once rolling the rather noisy cart over somewhere before I heard him open the gates and descend the stairs. I mustered up my strength and walked over, waiting for him to return and frowning when he did. He was pale, almost as if what he'd seen down there was too horrid to imagine, and I looked at him sadly.

"Oh my dear Watson," he said simply, putting his hand on mine before showing off a poker, "I am going to get you out of her, _now_."

* * *

We stopped in the classroom, I sitting nearby as he looked around, frowning openly at the disciple area and taking a fake beard and spectacles and looking over some of the paper before frowning, muttering to himself and putting a letter down as he took another look around and then looked at a yellow photograph and smiling. "Perfect. I think I'll have the answers shortly."

I kept myself still, though my body wanted nothing more then to give another violent shake as I'd been experiencing for the past few days. "Holmes."

He walked over, helping me up, "I found a hidden door…"

The shake went through, both at the knowledge of what he'd found as well as what was behind it.

"Watson!"

"I…I'm fine," I muttered when I was able to stop my teeth from chattering so violently. "Holmes, please, don't go into that room."

He frowned at me, then said, "I have to know, Watson. I'll leave you somewhere safe, somewhere you can escape at least. Lestrade should be here soon, and he'll get us both out of here, I know he will."

Lestrade here as well? The knowledge seemed to add strength to me, knowing it was both Holmes and another I trusted well enough. Lestrade had helped keep me sane when I thought Holmes dead, had listened to me in cases when no one else had, and I was more then a little grateful for his company in those three years.

Had it been three years? Perhaps I was missing more, perhaps I had dreamed it all and…

Holmes' grip on me brings me back to where we are, that I missed the walk out of the classroom and now we're about to descend the stairs.

I felt myself begin to shake with fear.

"I'm here," he whispered to me as we started down, "I'll leave you in Gygax's office. Do not go into the room to the left, near the bookcase…it is not something you should see in your condition. If you here the whistle and commotion, wait for me, and if you believe there's trouble, pull the short bell three times, and the long one once. You'll be able to get to the laundry."

_But that's where Moriarty was, where your enemy is…Holmes, don't leave me alone!_

His grip tightened as we got to the dark underbelly, to hell, and I all put whimpered when we got to flat ground.

"Watson, I cannot leave you upstairs, they will find you there. If we're together, we can get out of here together. I don't think I'll have a chance to return for you."  
I nodded in understanding, trying to find my lost purpose and nerve. I had no been this shaken and full of nightmares since returning from Afghanistan, and back then, Holmes had been distant and only mildly understanding. Now, with over a decade of friendship, he seemed to know what to do and did so, putting me into the well-lit room and near the large dumb waiter, handing me the poker as a weapon. "I'll return shortly, I promise."

I nodded, using the metal as a prop before I used the back as well, looking at the two ropes nearby. Three on short, one long, and I'd be with Moriarty. But if Holmes was here, he'd learn the truth, and then what?

I fell down the side of the wall and sat heavily on the floor, still shaking. The walls, as before, seemed to be folding in on me, closer and closer, and somehow, I knew what was beyond that door, what Gygax had done, connected it to the men with scars that had holes in their head, in their _brains, _he took away _part of them_ and gave them bon bons like dogs…

I held my breath when I heard the whistles blowing, and yelling from down one side before the door burst open and Holmes was there, the yelling of that insane Indian flowing after him and forming in air before he shut the door on them and they fell to the ground like broken glass.

"Watson?" Holmes helped me up, pulling the bells as I tried closing my eyes then opened them quickly, the horrors behind my lids and in the dark too much for me now.

We stumbled into the dumb waiter and I took in a breath, hoping to explain to Holmes was I saw but my throat not working and my mind unable to catch the words that flowed around me. I could see through the walls to the moving nurses and orderlies, understood that despite our attempts we were trapped, and I knew in an instant what Gygax would do to Holmes if he caught him.

I choked on my fear and the yell that nearly escaped, pushing the word and sound back in as surely as the bile that was rising in my throat, Holmes holding me up as we stumbled into the laundry, hiding and he frowning as he saw some orderlies through the door, then going to the stairway and glaring at it before picking me up and picking the lock of the one cage here, apologizing before stopping, blinking in amazement and something akin to fear before his voice said simply, "M-Moriarty!"

I gripped the one solid thing in this world, a bar that now caged a formerly great mind, and heard Gygax nearby, speaking loud enough for it to echo through me but not enough that Holmes heard it and I realized.

I couldn't have the two here, like this, forever trapped by that horrible fate that brain damage could do. I wouldn't allow Gygax to use Holmes against me, use him as an excuse to make me give in to those horrible dreams, to give in and instead of running from that daemonic icon and it's house, to simply embrace it.

Despite Holmes' sudden protest, I gripped Moriarty's arm, saying, "You know who you are, don't you? Somewhere in there, you know you are Professor Moriarty, a mathematician and the Napoleon of Crime, but you have been brought low, Professor. You cannot escape this fate anymore then the person who put you here, the one on the other side of the door who speaks and is such a great man. You know his name, Professor! You've heard me call it before, upstairs." I waited, seeing some light in his eyes and I leaned closer, whispering, "His name is Sherlock Holmes."

I had only seen him go from raging to calm, seen him regard me with some curious light that could be recognition or not, but I never expected such a change upon the older man as Holmes pulled me away and I almost collapsed.

Moriarty all but tore the door off the hinges to get to Gygax, and I heard Gerda crying somewhere as she held onto Heidi, Maurizio screamed in pain from his beatings, and so many other tortured souls threatened to enter into my head as I stumbled upstairs, Holmes pulling me up and stopping only to put on my ill-fitting clothing over the uniform they had given me, change from Holmes to the man I'd seen being dragged to an alter under London, and we were out the door then separated as men in blue dragged us out, but I saw Lestrade and allowed it as we were put into the back of a wagon, men waiting outside as Lestrade got in with us, and suddenly all my energy was lost. I wanted nothing more then to sleep for eternity and longer if I could, Holmes propping me up as Lestrade got me some water, which I was more then a little grateful for.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find you earlier," he said simply, and I managed a small smile at him.

"not your fault," I believe I said before falling asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

-Holmes-

"_Well, it isn't."_

_I do not like this Watson. He's too much like the one I know and insists on pointing out that apologies will be met with nothing short of acceptance, so long as I do not pull such stunts again._

"_You're being obtuse, Holmes."_

"_Why are you here, anyway?" I question from my chair, which I seem to be unable to get up from, "You should be resting."_

"_I am, or at least part of me is, and I must add that if you continue this self-sacrificing and angst, I may have to point out that it won't help his sanity either."_

"_Your sanity?"_

"_His. I'm part of you."_

"_I fail to see that."_

"_I'm here, aren't I?"_

_I glare at him, leaning back and taking him in. He does indeed look like Watson, and act like him, but he is…faded. Like a water color that was soaked for too long, the edges of where he should be seem to be too faded and running out into some unknown space._

"_But that begs the question of _how _you got here. I most certainly don't remember inviting you in."_

"_March, 1881."_

"_Now who's being obtuse?"_

_He smiled uneasily at me. "It was perhaps after that, but it was the beginning. I started to manifest, or at least I know some of it. I know that the person I came from, that who I am outside of you, has something similar. I know that this case will be hard on him…me…and you because of it. I don't understand it all because I wasn't there, but I understand enough to tell you that it's not your fault, and that you must be his stake in staying sane."_

_I frowned at him again, unsure as to where this was leading. "Are you saying that this dark being might be real?"_

"_I don't know, though I do know you don't believe it. However, I do know that the strengths of needs and convictions can create a dangerous atmosphere, and sadly it's enough of one that those blue crystals are exploiting in me. Your 'art in the blood' is also singing about it, but not as much as you'd suspect."_

"_My art in the blood?"_

"_Holmes."_

"_I simply don't understand why it would be calling to _me, _is all. I don't write."_

"_You don't see it because your attic," he motioned around him, "will not allow it in and cuts off all attempts. There are others who might not be so lucky to have such a discriminating ajna, or who's natural resistance to it is deeply impared."_

"_Like you."_

"_Watson. I'm part of you, remember?"_

"_This is—improbable…" I sigh. "So now what?"_

"_I don't know. You are going to New Orleans, I know that. Do you think Lestrade should come?"_

_I shook my head. "He can't, I already checked ahead. He's going to help clean up in Switzerland and then head back to England. If we're lucky, he'll trace down these people."_

_Watson smiled. "Maybe. He's a good friend, Holmes. Please try to see that."_

"_I do. I just happen to enjoy you a little more then everyone else."

* * *

_

The trip to America was going to be long, and I had gotten us adjoining rooms so as to better care for Watson, though I must admit that dreaming of such things on the first night was not something I thought would happen, if be possible at all. I suppose it helped, as at one point my stalwart Boswell might have to worry about things again and not be there for me, at least physically, though I would find it very strange to argue with that part of myself if it was on the same beck and call as Watson.

No, this was me just being overly-worried. I had to do what I could to ensure Watson got better and recovered. I had almost tracked down Gygax when I saw the state he was in, and I know that if Moran had still been in Scotland Yard's custody, Lestrade and others would have certainly dealt with him as if it had been one of their own who'd been harmed.

I stopped my thoughts of vengeance and instead went through what I knew, not only about Watson's condition but also the case.

Watson had been taken by the group and, like many others, transported to the Black Edelweiss Institute to be 'dealt with'. But from what I could find, Watson held a special status that, luckily, meant that he wasn't treated as those who had been kept in the lower levels and later transported away. However, his status didn't stop them from obviously mistreating him, so much so that he had all those bruises and some cuts, as well as having not eaten well in those months. I suspected some drugs as well, as Watson had refused any drinks besides water, and was ill if anything stronger then stew was given to him, and even then he could only have about half of it. I had tried some soaked pieces of bread and found that went over well too, but in about the same quantity, which didn't help him either.

So the same group had once had Moran in their ranks, and if he was loyal to Moriarty and found out where his former master was, no doubt he would've come looking for him. Instead, they continued with their plans of abduction on the immigrant population of England, and if what both Becker and Watson had observed, on various others from the Continent through Switzerland.

But then what was going on New Orleans? The telegram had spoken of needing more jewels, which Gygax obviously had and had to deliver to the messenger, this mysterious 'A'. As well there was the marked note that spoke of the leader of this group being in England or nearby and having to hide the insane man, Light of Abyss, who was his tutor in these dark rites.

I hoped to gain more information when we reached it, and with enough haste to not spend a good amount of time in the New World. It was one of the few places I had not reached in my travels, though my dealing with the few Americans I had met left me to wonder what sort of place it would be when we did get there.

I heard something akin to a muffled cry, and quickly raced into Watson's room, finding him biting down on his knuckles as his whole body stopped what had to be an almost violent shudder that seemed to be part of his withdraw from whatever had happened to him. I considered the blue crystals I had kept and wondered if it was that or the pink ones that he'd been given and become addicted to, that would cause him such pain if he didn't get them.

"Watson," I whispered, gently taking his wrist and removing the hand so I could deal with the now-bleeding knuckles.

"go away, Holmes, please," he muttered, as if only half-aware of where he was. "No, don't, please don't leave me again."

"I won't," I told him, moving to get the black bag that Lestrade had brought along in his façade as a doctor and which belonged to Watson anyway, causing me to take it with us.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and I frowned at him as another violent shake went through him and this time brought out a cry, his body jerking against my hold as if to fight off some unseen thing.

"Watson, tell me what's wrong. You must."

"Dreams," he said in an almost breathless tone, "I can't stop dreaming of that place, or of the island beneath the sea and it's abomination of an inhabitant, or of what had happened to the man that we're seeking."

I frowned at the wording. "Tell me, then, what you see. You must."

"I cannot! It is not only impossible, it is beyond all that is sane and could be true!"

I sighed. "Watson, I _must _know, so we can best combat it. Impossible, insane, false, all these things we've always faced and dealt with together. Have I not always shown you the impossible to be improbable, the false to be simply half-truths, and the insane things to make sense in certain light. Yes, it is painful to think such darkness is there, but I will be your light when you need it. Tell me, Watson!"


	6. Chapter 6

-Watson-

I spoke at his command, a flurry of words that ripped through the room like a harsh storm, attempting to make bare the walls and expose us to the uncaring and dark sea that we sailed, as if it wished to show me the demons beneath with no care to what would happen to my mind or to Holmes.

Yet Holmes' words spoke truer, and each gale was bagged as if Aeolus was capturing the four winds for use later or to destroy at his own convenience. I spoke of his death, and he told me the facts, that he had thrown Moriarty from the cliff, had heard my heartfelt pleas for his return but had to, in such a harsh action, not go to me, as he was uncertain who else might be there, and that he knew there were others Moriarty worked for, and his death would give him the ability to find them. He spoke of his escape from Moran, his race through the darkness, and then his trek to Tibet to hide before Mycroft called him back, his delay in France that created my imprisonment, and apologized for not writing me, for he feared that if Moran found out, he would harm me in order to bring him back and he swore to never do such things again, that he should've sworn it during the Culverton Smith case, but couldn't think of a reason to, as he had no clue of Moriarty then.

I spoke of the Institute, and he related what he found, of Maurizio's escape that I hoped had worked but knew had not, of Gerda's gaining Heidi again and speaking of me in a kind tone when she hated all other men, of Baur's torment of the birds and childlike laughter when they were loosened, and of Wolff, his obsession with multiplication tables and would only speak to a man named Professor Schwartz, who had died but Holmes impersonated in order to gain the knowledge of how to find the Light of Abyss, the insane Indian behind the hidden wall who had tried to turn my mind towards the sunken city and it's dark inhabitant, to the cold stars and the kin of this being that waited for him to waken and call.

I spoke of the treatment I'd received, of the drugging and fear they all lived in, of losing time when I wasn't allowed outside, and of my first encounter with Moriarty. His face turned stony and he explained he would stay with me until my body and mind recovered, asking me if I felt I could help him with the rest and if I was quite up for all the work we would have ahead of us in New Orleans, that it might beget more horrors and shatter my nerves and resolve further if I joined but smiled as I said I wanted to see this through, and to not do so would cause my mind to wander back to nightmares.

I spoke of the dreams, of the man and what I'd see while under the drugs, what I saw now while they festered in my system, and he kept hold of me before asking if he was changing.

"No," I said, but then asked to be certain, "You're real, aren't you?"

"Very much so," his confidence shattered everything into atoms, into smaller bits then atoms, frightening any shadow of doubt from the room and suddenly it was too bright.

"And the other that I've seen in my dreams?"

"He is as real as the Watson that spoke to me when I dreamt."

The whole of the room suddenly took on a clarity that I didn't think I'd ever had but vaguely believed always happened when Holmes explained how he figured out what I was thinking or had done in that showman way of his, or when he explained the clues leading up to an arrest or finding the truth behind a problem that had been brought up to him.

I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, Holmes had ordered breakfast and was setting it up, happily seeing me awake and obviously relieved.

"Are you up to some oatmeal, old man?"

I wanted bacon, and eggs, and toast, _and _the oatmeal or gruel or whatever he had. Twice over, for a fortnight or more, until that empty feeling in my stomach was gone.

I nodded instead, and was able to get up and feed myself, finishing the oatmeal and starting to reach for more but I stopped myself. I'd had nothing more substantial then stew, soup, or water and my stomach must be shrunk, and my body still readjusting to not having the crystals.

"Watson," Holmes said after he put the tray out, "I have a question for you, but first I must tell you again what I know of this case."

I nodded, listening and telling him when I remembered Gygax had gone to a bank or somewhere on errands for a week, when I first unsuccessfully attempted to wean myself off the drug and probably ended up getting myself even more sickly, if the state of my clothing hanging off my body said anything.

He waited and then pulled something out of his pocket.

A small, clear vial containing the blue crystals.

I hate to admit my body leaned towards them, even as my mind attempted to stop it, to scream that it was wrong, that I should not want these evil things!

"Do you believe it will help if you were taken off slowly, as opposed to stopping so suddenly?"

I found myself unable to speak, and instead shook my head.

"Do you know what day it is?"

I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Watson, you were unconscious for two days, and I was unable to rouse you. I am worried."

"I don't want those damned things again, Holmes. The only fathomable reason to take them at all would be to see that city again, or to learn more about the man, and I don't want to. It pains me, body and soul, to think such things are in the world and have somehow entered my mind."

He put the crystals away. "Then I will keep them in a secure place, and not ask you again."

I thanked him, and despite his worries, I improved by leaps and bounds as we crossed the Atlantic, my dreams always simply darkness and never anything at all.

But I worried, not only over what we would find in New Orleans, but of what I had dreamed earlier, what I had seen both under the drug and recovering, and what I hadn't told Holmes about, about the two dreams in which he and my brother seemed to fight over where I would go.

Too soon for my liking, we reached the port of New Orleans, and headed out to see what there was.


End file.
